Chance just stood there, dumbfounded. His arm was bleeding out, gun blown to smithereens. He was knocking on death’s door, and only two things could help him right now: a medkit, or Elliot’s pizzas (with magical healing properties). And to be honest? He’d much rather go for the latter. Elliot had been a tease to Chance when he’d always ask for a pizza- it was like he was a dog doing tricks for a treat. Chance hated it with all his guts. However, if he wanted to live longer, that was his only option. So, Chance eventually found Elliot, putting on his signature smile. “Heyyy, Elliot, bud! Got any spare pizzas?” Chance coughed, clutching his injured arm. Elliot, the pizza boy, turned his attention to the gambler, a somewhat innocent smile playing on his lips. “A pizza? Of course, Chance!” Elliot walked over to him and gently took hold of his chin. “All you have to do is BEG.” Chance gulped. “Get on your knees and beg, Chancey.”